


Nowhere To Run To

by mochi_outlier



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Erik is suffering a lot and his brain's kinda broken, Erik's life in bits and pieces through X-Men: First Class, Heavy Angst, M/M, My first work posted here so it kinda sucks, Non-Linear Narrative, Without a happy ending, sleeping with someone (kinda) under false pretences, so i guess you could call it dub-con? but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochi_outlier/pseuds/mochi_outlier
Summary: Erik is a monster, Erik is a machine. Then he meets Charles and for a minute he thinks he can be a person again. Doesn't last long."It kills you inside slowly, knowing you could have saved someone but weren’t strong enough to. It poisons your veins until you burn with the knowledge that it was all your fault."





	Nowhere To Run To

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Nutria cause she's the Charles to my Erik, the c beanie squad on Twitter and Team Cherik on Facebook (mostly Masha cause whenever I talk about fic ideas she tells me "WRITE IT!!" and guess what? I did)  
> Enjoy!

1962

It starts like this. He thinks he is going to die; water is freezing, colder than he thought (they’re in Florida, weather should be warm) and he’s starting to feel the lack of air. It doesn’t stop him, though, not willing to let Schmidt go now that he’s almost there. He’s so close to his goal he certainly won’t give it up for something so stupid as dying (he has always known he wouldn’t survive the after, anyway), he just has to make sure to kill him before lack of oxygen catches up with him and makes him pass out. He feels himself slipping and the submarine jumps forward, and he can’t take it anymore. He’s trying, bending his power any way he knows how, but it’s useless. He’s useless. All this time has passed and he’s still that weak and powerless little kid who couldn’t manage to save anyone, least of all himself. His death will be pointless, as has been his life until now. Another expendable feature in the sea of people Schmidt has walked over to get what he wants. There is no victory, no revenge, just a quiet drowning of his last promises to his mother he has never had hope to keep. He doesn’t stop, he can’t stop, but he knows it’s a fruitless sacrifice while he’s making it. His hands hurt, his muscles tight, and he will float away like this, like he was born, prepared to fight until the end. Then, suddenly, a pair of arms come around him and a voice shouts in his head. He struggles but he’s weak, the cold has seeped into his bones and he’s been overexerting himself.

“You can’t. You’ll drown. You have to let go.”

He knows he’s going to drown, he’d like to say, he is more than ready to die, but there’s still water all around him and he can’t open his mouth. Where does this voice come from?

“I know what this means to you, but you’re going to die. Please, Erik, calm your mind.”

Who is this man? His mind? He doesn’t understand, he’s tired and has lost feeling in his limbs. The arms get tighter around him and he is pulled. As soon as his mouth hits the surface, he takes in a gulp of air and shoos the man away.

“Get off me! Get off me!”

“Calm down, just breathe.” The man turns around in the water. “We are here!” He’s screaming at a boat. Erik didn’t even notice it was there.

“Who are you?” he asks between breaths. While his mind is not, his body is clearly glad not to be deep underwater anymore.

“My name is Charles Xavier.”

He doesn’t know it yet, but this is the moment his life changes. It will be just for a while, enough to never really recover from (but not enough to change him for good). In the dark he can’t see those blue eyes evaluating him, already so full of understanding. He can’t wholly get the importance of this meeting, not now (he will, just when it’ll be too late to do something about it). For now, though, he still doesn’t know.

“You were in my head. How did you do it?” It’s the most obvious thing to ask now that he’s mostly regained his wits.

“You have your tricks, I have mine. I’m like you. Just calm your mind,” he answers. His voice sounds less worried now, relieved in seeing Erik has calmed down.

“I thought I was alone.”

“You’re not alone, Erik, you’re not alone.” And (he doesn’t know it yet) he never will be- never again.

* * *

 1957

Another day, another man dead. Another trail to Schmidt gone cold. Usually he would be furious, but it’s times like these he gets tired. There are moments late at night, when he can’t sleep, he feels he’s been angry far too long. The ire which fires him usually keeps him on his toes, burning hot and indomitable, yet then he can taste it run cold on his tongue. It’s easy reminding himself that if he doesn’t have that, he has nothing; it’s harder to care. At those times, the reason why it matters escapes him, elusive as dust, and it’s only plain pride that makes him refuse to give up. Anger is exhausting. It has slowly erased everything else inside of him, conquering every nook and corner of his very soul, leaving nothing in its wake but ash. It’s his anchor, his only way of surviving, if he can keep it alive just long enough to do what he must. There’s no other option.

* * *

 1962

Erik’s relationship with Alex is possibly the best out of the ones he has with the boys. He’s young, alone and bitter at a world which never understood him, and Erik can’t help but find a bit of himself in that. He knows he’s not exactly a role model, not as Charles is, but he genuinely wants to help the boy not be blinded by his fury ( _so he doesn’t become a monster like me_ , his traitorous mind says). And he tries, he tries hard at that.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asks one evening, when he finds him in the kitchen after playing chess with Charles (and his lips looked so kissable in the soft light of the fire, and his eyes were so, so blue). It’s strange seeing Alex still up, since Charles was adamant the youngsters follow an appropriate timetable - and isn’t that just so fatherly of him? Sometimes Erik is sure Charles is set on adopting all of them, him included. Sometimes that makes him doubt the telepath even sees him as an equal (much less a possible love interest). He is above them all in a place Erik of all people cannot hope to reach. Obviously he still wants to, maybe it is the first thing he’s wanted for himself in a long time; nevertheless, Erik has since accepted that he will never get what he wants and that the best thing he can expect is getting his revenge. Everything else is useless wishful thinking.

 “I don’t sleep much,” Alex answers curtly, interrupting his flow of thoughts. It hits him suddenly how they always come back to Charles, one way or the other. It doesn’t irk him as much as it should.

“Is it because of Shaw and the imminent war, or is it something else?”

Erik isn’t sure he will answer truthfully. The kinship he feels with the boy means he knows that he, too, keeps his cards close to his chest. His only chance is that Alex is too afraid to worry about his pride and that he doesn’t want to confide in Charles in fear of disappointing him. It’s quite a common concern in their group, he realized. If only Charles knew how much of a pedestal his new recruits put him on (it doesn’t mean Erik thinks he doesn’t deserve it. He clearly does).

Alex doesn’t respond immediately, and Erik is already convinced he’s lost his chance at trying to help him when he hesitantly opens his mouth just to close it again soon after. The German waits. Perhaps everything is not lost after all.

“Shaw, war, everything. I’m starting to wonder why I am even here. We trained, yes, and the Professor- Charles- helped me more in a week than everyone else did in my whole life, my parents included, but we’re weak. Shaw is so powerful, I’ve seen what he’s capable of with my own eyes, and that’s not even considering the mutants with him. And they had much more time to prepare to this. We’re going to have to fight and we’re fewer and less trained. We already lost Darwin and it was my fault, I was useless then and I’m gonna be useless now! Consider something happens to my suit, Erik. I can’t control my power, I’d just destroy everything as I always do!”

He started shouting at some point in his tirade, but Erik can’t blame him. Alex’s eyes are wet, have been since he spoke Darwin’s name, and Erik knows perfectly well how he’s feeling. Powerless, unworthy, but most of all furious. It kills you inside slowly, knowing you could have saved someone but weren’t strong enough to. It poisons your veins until you burn with the knowledge that it was all your fault. His mother’s unseeing eyes still haunt his nightmares more often than any of Shaw’s tortures ever could, and he’s only now understanding that it is the same for Alex, too. It is also the same the –quite unhealthy, Charles would say- way they cope with it, by getting angry at the world, at the culprits and at themselves for letting it happen. Alex’s body is trembling with rage and Erik has lived far too long not to guess how it’s going to end if he doesn’t intervene. He’s going to kill himself trying to make amends, and destroy everyone he loves in the process. There’s a reason Erik never let himself love someone, until now; he’s always known his fate. It’s too late for him (no matter what Charles says, _peace will never be an option_ ) but this boy is so young, so new to the world, he can’t believe he’s already  a goner. Erik has this last thing to do for him ( _for Charles_ ) before everything ends in a couple days end their paths irrevocably part. There is no happy ending awaiting him, but his revenge will be made sweeter by not letting Shaw make another of his creatures out of Alex. He wants to save him, if he can’t save himself.

* * *

 1959

Erik does not think about his mother. He can’t. If he starts, he’ll have to face the thought of how horrified and disappointed she would be if she could see him now, look at what he’s become. Years passed, but he can still imagine it perfectly well; he closes his eyes and is forced to watch as his hands drip red, red blood while she just stands there, terrified.

_What have you done, mein Schatz_ , she would say, eyes as big as saucers, _what have you done_. He smiles.

_It’s not what you think, mama,_ but it is, it has always been and he never had the chance to escape his fate, did he? She tries to break away from him, scared, so scared, but he’s faster and he feels as if he can’t afford to let her go. He lost her once already and won’t let it happen again, so he runs. He manages to catch her hand, though she weakly struggles (but she’s so thin and famished, just like in his memories. How could she think he wouldn’t catch her? He’s older now, stronger. He can protect her, why does she need to run? Silly mama, you don’t have to be afraid, you won’t have to be afraid ever again.)

Yet here she is, shaking.

_Mama, it’s me, it’s Erik,_ he says, sweetly, but his hands are still wet. Everything is red, painted dark by blood; it’s leaking all over the place, on his clothes and on the floor. He feels it in his hair, in his eyes, and with every passing moment she looks more frightened. She stares at him as though she’s never seen him before.

_Who are you, and what have you done to my child_ , it sounds like she’s asking, but she doesn’t say a word. She’s frozen in place, unable to stomach the idea of her own son becoming a killer, a murderer, Frankenstein’s monster.

He wakes up sweaty from his nightmare, his hands reaching forward for someone who isn’t there, mouth open in a soundless scream. He’s breathing quickly, and as soon as he’s coherent he looks at his hands. They’re trembling, wet, but they are clean. He sits up in bed, waiting for his heart to calm down and trying to pretend he isn’t crying. He reminds himself what he’s doing this for and makes his hurt into anger.

He’s not that good Jewish boy his mother was proud of anymore, but he can’t regret it. It was the only way to get where he is and he is a man with a mission.

He gets up from bed, resigned on not getting any more sleep. It’s a good time as any to get to work on his next goal.

* * *

 1962

It’s one of those nights. They’re alone in a motel room, getting themselves ready for sleeping while sharing thoughts about the progress they’re making day by day. They’ve already met quite a few mutants, but not many are willing to leave their lives to go with them. It would be understandable, if Erik knew what it means to get to live normally. He doesn’t. It’s often a subject of discussion between him and Charles, since the telepath accuses him of trying to force people to join them. Erik begs to differ, saying that it should be every mutant’s duty to fight for their kind. They will probably never agree on that (as they won’t on many other matters regarding their “condition”).

It’s just, they had such different life experiences it should be expected they argue that much, but actually every time Charles disagrees with him Erik is surprised. He appreciates that he’s not afraid to speak his mind against him, but he’s already gotten so used to being understood by Charles it feels like a failure on his part when it doesn’t happen. Charles is the only one who doesn’t make him feel like a fraud, he’s seen all he is and still trusts him. The thought sounds too preposterous to wrap his head around, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Charles has been inside his mind and has let him see his own thoughts in return, so Erik knows for certain the he truly believes in him. Part of him is glad for that, because that means he doesn’t have to pretend to be nice, part of him is terrified. There is no way this is going to end well.

Before his thoughts spiral into all the ways in which he can ruin Charles and their relationship forever, the telepath comes out of their shared bathroom and speaks.

“Bathroom’s free to use. Do you mind if I sleep? I’m beat, today was exhausting, to say the least.” He doesn’t even finish before he is already in bed, his head on the pillow surrounded by his soft hair. His eyelids are heavy but his smile is kind. He’s the most beautiful thing Erik has ever seen, and he wonders again how is it possible that something so good has touched his life. He knows it’s not for long (as soon as Shaw dies, it’s over, whatever this friendship-alliance thing is, between them) yet he feels lucky nonetheless. It’s been years since he has felt like a man and not a killing machine, and it’s been even more since he found himself wishing he were good for something other than murder. He knows he doesn’t deserve this kind of peace, however temporary, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His target isn’t changed, he won’t become a better person just for Charles (he _can’t)_ but he’ll enjoy having someone believe he could be more while he can. It’s possible he’ll manage to convince himself of it, too.

“Goodnight, Charles,” and he finds himself wishing again (after how long he has not wished for anything but Shaw’s death); he wishes in another life, he could follow that with a kiss and be worthy of it (he never gets what he wishes, though. That’s why he stopped).

* * *

 1957

The first (and only, though they don’t know it yet) time he meets Vera Maximoff she’s nursing a drink in a bar, laughing at something a friend of hers said. She’s young, pretty, and her eyes shine when she smiles. She looks fragile in the low light, with her long luscious hair and her small shoulders, like a princess out of a fairy-tale. He doesn’t spare her a second glance. It should be obvious, but he is not looking for relationships and even one night stands are good as long as he can get information from them. Sex in itself doesn’t interest him and love is a foreign concept, as he has no time nor thought to waste for it (if, maybe, he once dreamt of a Jewish wedding and a big family, he buried that dream with his mother in the camp).

When she rises hear head, though, the look she beckons him with captures his attention and he can’t help smirking at her. He knows he’s handsome, even after years of malnutrition and torture, as well as he is sure women would immediately reject whatever attraction they feel for him the moment they knew what he’s done. She is probably the same. She knows nothing, yet she is smiling at him and waving at him to get closer. So naïve. She sees a handsome face and doesn’t wonder what it could hide. These girls are all the same, thinking he’s a dark knight come to ravish them and love them until sunset. He touches them knowingly, perfectly aware of how he’s ruining them forever, staining their lovely little bodies with secondhand blood. There’s a different kind of pleasure in spoiling someone so trusting and so pure, while keeping his victims ignorant. How would they feel, realizing they’ve slept with a murderer? What hands did they let touch their body? He can imagine the blood leaving her face, making her pale like a ghost or a corpse, and the image is so fitting he chokes on a snicker. Her smile slightly falls, assuming a bemused quirk, possibly wondering if he’s making fun of her. He grins in her direction, a sultry look in his eyes and her whole form relaxes. He finally stands up and walks the small distance between them, finally sitting up in a stool next to her.

“A scotch, please,” he politely but firmly asks the bartender. He wants this woman to be his tonight, so he’s keeping up the act she’s cooked up in her head (he assumes, but more often than not his assumptions are right). He turns towards her. “I’m Erik.”

“Vera,” she answers, extending her hand for a handshake. He takes it in his, then bows his head and kisses it. She laughs, something frilly, carefree, and for a second he hesitates. Does he really want to rip that laughter out? He’s not so self-absorbed to think she’s going to change whether he sleeps with her or not, but he will know. He will think of this again and know an innocent girl had sex with a killer under false pretences. Is it worth his sick personal pleasure in the face of that innocence?

She smiles at him again. In another life he could consider himself lucky to be at the end of it, but right now he only feels disgusted. Somehow at her, but mostly at himself. He shouldn’t involve  other people ( _innocent people_ , his conscience reminds him with a voice which sounds like his mother’s) in his mess. It isn’t right. Nothing about this is right.

“So, where do you come from? Your accent isn’t from around here. Are you a foreign student? I wish I could visit other countries too, I’ve always wanted to travel!”

She’s so simple, a typical American girl with dreams as big as the promises for her future no one is ever going to keep. He’s a concentration camp survivor. They couldn’t be more different.

“No, I’ve come here looking for someone. I’m European.” Vague enough, could even pass as a pick-up line. It’s a terrible masquerade of the truth.

“I hope it’s not another woman,” and he looks at him beneath her lashes. He is going to have her, and he will hate himself for it.

Afterwards, they are in bed, her head is on his chest and she’s caressing his pecs. Her eyes fall on his arm and he knows she’s seen his tattoo when her whole body stiffens. She doesn’t comment on it, though, and after a while she falls asleep. He extricates himself from the bed, gets up and away. He is already regretting the whole thing (and he doesn’t even know the full extent of the repercussions).

* * *

 1962

They are on the plane and Shaw is somewhere beneath the waves; Sean should have gotten his position right and everything now depends on Erik. He is not completely sure of his abilities, to be honest, yet as soon as Charles’ eyes meets his he feels secure. Charles trusts him enough for both of them.

“You are ready for this?”

“Let’s find out.”

Turns out he actually is. The metal feels alive under his fingers, and he senses the elation that invaded him when he moved the satellite dish taking place. He doesn’t cry this time (he’s not been assaulted by memories and emotions like before), but he would smile if he weren’t so concentrated on not losing his hold. While the satellite was big, it didn’t have the will to oppose him, whereas the submarine is trying to escape. Shaw has to know Erik has come. Too bad for him, this time he can and will make him get out (and he will kill him, too, even if he knows Charles won’t be happy about it. They will find a way).

“Remember, the point between rage and serenity.” Hearing Charles’ voice gives him the last push: the submarine goes out of the water and in a minute it falls on the shore. Then it is chaos. He comes back on the plane and magnetizes himself just in time to take care of Charles (he would not let him fall and get hurt, he has failed to protect too many people already) and they crash. As soon as he’s made sure they are okay (that Charles is okay, but he has to pretend not to care) he goes off to find Shaw. Their end has come, it’s here and now.

And there comes the voice in his head.

“Erik, you’re there. You’ve reached the void.”

“He's not here, Charles. Shaw's not here! He's left the sub.” They start to argue until he finds himself fall silent. Shaw has appeared. He feels a thousand feelings at once; rage, sorrow, hatred, guilt. This man has been his obsession for years, and now that they are in front of each other he doesn’t know what to do. Shaw retreats and he is forced to follow him in the void. He doesn’t have Charles in the back of his head anymore and he would never admit that it makes him feel alone (didn’t he promise he would never be, again?), but maybe it is for the best. At least he will not have to justify what he is about to do.

Shaw is talking, and talking, and talking. What he has to say would even make sense if Erik weren’t so disgusted by what he represents. He starts throwing him around and he feels sick, because he can’t even touch him. Why is he so powerless? He hits the wall and it hurts, and he tries to get back on his feet. Suddenly Charles is there again and hope renews in his heart.

“Erik, whatever you do you can keep doing it. It's starting to work.”

He lets himself be tossed around, since apparently it helps breaking down whichever barrier is blocking the telepath. Shaw is yet unaware of what’s happening and Erik takes his chance. He moves a cable and pulls away Shaw’s helmet from his head.

“Now, Charles!” and Shaw freezes. Telepathy will never cease to amaze him. It’s incredible how much that small body and trusting eyes can do when they use their full power. Some people may find it humbling, or scary. For Erik, it is neither, and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing as he takes the helmet. He just feels that he has to, that as much as he trusts Charles this is too important to risk. “Sorry, Charles.” And he puts the helmet on.

From then on there is silence in his head. Silence, as he kills Shaw. Silence, as he comes out of the submarine and declares war against humans. Silence, as Charles realizes their lovely colleagues are now more than ready to kill them since the mission’s complete. Silence, as he attacks him all the same to stop him from killing those soldiers (how selfless, his Charles; doesn’t he know that without his telepathy he can’t touch him?).

There is silence as Moira shots and Charles falls. And he doesn’t think twice before running to his side (Erik  can pretend all he wants, but he is his deepest weakness). He looks at Moira with rage, ready to kill her for what she has just done, but Charles stops him (and he will never stop being powerless against that blue gaze).

“She didn't do this, Erik. You did.” It is what he feared all along, isn’t it? He thought he could be human once again, Charles trusted him to be, but he has revealed himself a monster. It would be so easy to blame Shaw for all of this, to say the telepath was wrong in believing he was redeemable, to keep pretending there was never any chance for it to go another way. Something in him tells him it is not the case.

“Us turning on each other. It's what they want. I tried to warn you, Charles. I want you by my side. We're brothers, you and I. All of us, together. Protecting each other. We want the same thing.” It is his last try, even if he knows it won’t go how he wants as he says it. He tries all the same.

“My friend, I'm sorry. But we do not.”

Erik has killed many people, injured even more. He has lied, stolen, cheated and destroyed lives to get where he is now. Charles is the only person he has never wanted to ruin. He looks at him bleeding and crying on the beach, his eyes as blue as he’s ever seen them, and the truth becomes clear: he already did.

 

_We are one and the same_   
_Oh you take all of the pain away_   
_Save me if I become_   
_My demons_

_\- Starset_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my first work here and the first fic I'm ever posting in English (which is not my first language). I hope it doesn't suck. It's probably scrappy and it doesn't really feel finished (the end's kinda rushed but the scene was longer than i remembered and I didn't want to just copypaste the movie dialogue), but I've been writing bits and pieces of this for months and I'm tired. So here.  
> I hope I put the right warnings and everything, I'm new to this so tell me if you find I should add something.


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